


Carrion

by mittamoo



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Dermatillomania, Other, POV Second Person, Statement Fic (The Magnus Archives), the romantic implications of cannibalism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:53:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26176768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mittamoo/pseuds/mittamoo
Summary: You have always had issues with anxiety, a constant jittering in your bones that refuses to settle leading into the hollow, gaping void of your chest and gut. You have always been anxious, so you bite your lips, worrying at the lines of them, catching on skin and peeling it away in long, thin lines. The act settles you though you do not know why it does so like nothing else, it does not take long to grow used to the taste of iron on your tongue.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	Carrion

You have always had issues with anxiety, a constant jittering in your bones that refuses to settle leading into the hollow, gaping void of your chest and gut. You have always been anxious, so you bite your lips, worrying at the lines of them, catching on skin and peeling it away in long, thin lines. The act settles you though you do not know why it does so like nothing else, it does not take long to grow used to the taste of iron on your tongue. 

For a long time that is all it is, chapped lips and small, almost negligible smears of blood around your mouth and the backs of your hands. But one day you are cutting your nails and you are just fascinated by the clippers. Before you have never much considered them beyond their ability to keep your nails to a reasonable length. Without stopping to consider your thoughts, you twist the clippers against the pad of your finger. 

And Press. And Cut

It doesn’t hurt. You’d expected that it would, like it does when you peel your lip skin slightly too far back into your mouth, leaving a small welt in your mouth to poke at endlessly with your tongue, you’ve always enjoyed the taste of a fresh wound in your mouth- not the bloody taste though you enjoy that as well but the singular taste of newly exposed flesh. But it doesn't hurt at all. So you cut again, again, again. It is not a frantic action but a methodical one leaving lines of uniform rectangles of not quite detached skin running horizontally down each fingertip. They remind you, in a way, of belt loops. 

You bring your fingertip to your mouth and your teeth catch on loose skin and pull, and chew. Over and over until the belt loops you made of your fingers become shallow trenches. You don’t know why they remind you of trenches, marks scored into your flesh, a record of a battle- not won- but not lost you don’t think. Not yet, anyway. It is hard to allow your fingers to heal so you can begin the process anew. But you do manage it by putting your finger whole into your mouth to rest against the surface of your molars. It is the canine teeth that are responsible for tearing meat, rending flesh from bone. But you think that is not what you want, so you press your finger against your molars and bite down, grinding gently against skin and bone. It eases you. The human jaw has enough bite force to sever a human finger. You do not think about this.  _ You do not think about this. _

At university you are on a forensic science course, you like the people on your course. They are like you, when you make a joke they laugh whilst the ones from other courses in your lecture recoil from you. When one of your coursemates tells you that he would not mind being eaten in a disaster so long as it kept others alive you grin at him in agreement. Or perhaps you are simply baring your teeth. In your lectures you learn of the process that is sometimes used by forensics in order to obtain better fingerprints from a corpse when all other methods have failed. The lecturer calmly refers to the process as de-gloving as the skin of the body’s hand is removed in a single piece and worn over the scientist’s own hand for print taking. You cannot help but think how intimate that is, to be so incredibly close to another, a stranger even after your death. You crave that closeness you think, more than you could describe. 

  
  


Laying in bed with your boyfriend is always an experience that awakens that hunger in you, that need for more, to be closer and closer and closer to him. You think if you could, that you would wrench open his ribcage and crawl inside. He does not understand how you crave to become one being but still he holds you and whispers into your ear how he loves you. And you love him- more than anything. You bury your face into his neck. The human jaw has enough bite force to sever a human finger. You do not want to think about this.

_ The human jaw has enough bite force to sever a human finger. _

You love him. You open your jaws against his throat.

And  _ bite. _

The blood fills your mouth in pulses, it fills you with the heat or your passion as you drink, drink, drink. His gargled screaming does not break the quiet of your reverence. You lay at his side and worship at his altar. You open your jaws again; to bite and chew and tear and rend  _ and love. _ You keep going like this for hours, long after your stomach should have been full you continue. Hands, face, mouth, everywhere really bathed in red. You cannot stop until your consumption is complete. You pick the bones clean and curl around them in your bed. You and the man you love together in a way that cannot be extracted. Together you are perfect. It takes days for the gnawing ache of your insides starts up again.

After all, you just have so much love to give. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


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